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Vouchsafe to show the sunshine of your face,
That we, like savages, may worship it.

Their several counsels they unbosom shall
To loves mistook; and so be mock'd withal,
Upon the next occasion that we meet,
With visages display'd, to talk, and greet.
Ros. But shall we dance, if they desire us to't?
Prin. No; to the death, we will not move a foot:
Nor to their penn'd speech render we no grace;
But, while 'tis spoke, each turn away her face.
Boyet. Why, that contempt will kill the speaker's

And quite divorce his memory from his part.

Prin. Therefore I do it; and, I make no doubt,
The rest will ne'er come in, if he be out.
There's no such sport, as sport by sport o'erthrown;
To make theirs ours, and ours none but our own:
So shall we stay, mocking intended game;
And they, well mock'd, depart away with shame.
[Trumpets sound within.
Boyet. The trumpet sounds; be mask'd, the maskers
[The ladies mask.
Enter the King, BIRON, LONGAVILLE, and DUMAIN, in
Russian habits, and masked; MOTH, Musicians and


Moth. All hail, the richest beauties on the earth!
Boyet. Beauties no richer than rich taffata.
Moth. A holy parcel of the fairest dames,

[The ladies turn their backs to him. That ever turn'd their-backs-to mortal views! Biron. Their eyes, villain, their eyes.

Ros. My face is but a moon, and clouded too.
King. Blessed are clouds, to do as such clouds do!
Vouchsafe, bright moon, and these thy starts, to shine
(Those clouds remov'd,) upon our wat❜ry eyne.

Ros. O vain petitioner! beg a greater matter;
Thou now request'st but moonshine in the water.
King. Then, in our measure do but vouchsafe one

Thou bid'st me beg; this begging is not strange.
Ros. Play, music, then: nay, you must do it soon,
[Music plays.

Not yet; — no dance! —thus change I like the moon. King. Will you not dance? How come you thus estrang'd?

Ros. You took the moon lat full; but now she's chang'd.

King. Yet still she is the moon, and I the man. The music plays; vouchsafe some motion to it. Ros. Our ears vouchsafe it.

King. But your legs should do it.

Ros. Since you are strangers, and come here by

We'll not be nice: take hands; - -we will not dance.
King. Why take we hands then?
Ros. Only to part friends :-

Court'sy, sweet hearts; and so the measure ends.
King. More measure of this measure; be not nice!
Ros. We can afford no more at such a price.

Moth. That ever turn'd their eyes to mortal views! King. Prize you yourselves; what buys your com


Boyet.True; out, indeed.


Ros. Your absence only.

Moth. Out of your favours, heavenly spirits, vouch- King. That can never be. safe

Not to behold

Biron. Once to behold, rogue.

Moth. Once to behold with your sun-beamed eyes,—~ with your sun-beamed eyes

Boyet. They will not answer to that epithet;
You were best call it, daughter-beamed eyes.

Moth. They do not mark me, and that brings me out.
Biron. Is this your perfectness? be gone, you rogue!
Ros. What would these strangers? know their minds,

If they do speak our language, 'tis our will
That some plain man recount their purposes:
Know what they would.

Boyet. What would you with the princess?
Biron. Nothing but peace, and gentle visitation.
Ros. What would they, say they?

Boyet. Nothing but peace, and gentle visitation.
Ros. Why, that they have; and bid them so be gone.
Boyet. She says, you have it, and you may be gone.
King. Say to her, we have measur'd many miles,
To tread a measure with her on this grass.
Boyet. They say that they have measur'd many a

To tread a measure with you on this grass.
Ros. It is not so: ask them, how many inches
Is in one mile: if they have measur'd many,

The measure then of one is easily told.

Ros. Then cannot we be bought; and so adieu;
Twice to your visor, and half once to you!
King. If you deny to dance, let's hold more chat,
Ros. In private then.

King. I am best pleas'd with that.

[They converse apart. Biron. White-handed mistress, one sweet word with thee.

Prin. Honey, and milk, and sugar; there is three.
Biron. Nay then, two treys, (an if you grow so

Metheglin, wort, and malmsey;-Well run, dice!
There's half a dozen sweets.

Prin. Seventh sweet, adieu!

Since you can cog, I'll play no more with you.
Biron. One word in secret.

Prin. Let it not be sweet.

Biron. Thou griev'st my gall.
Prin. Gall? bitter.

Biron. Therefore meet.

[They converse apart.

Dum. Will you vouchsafe with me to change a word?
Mar. Name it.

Dum. Fair lady,


Mar. Say you so? Fair lord, -
Take that for your fair lady.

Dum. Please it you,

As much in private, and I'll bid adicu.

[They converse apart.

Boyet. If, to come hither, you have measur'd miles, Kath. What, was your visor made without a tongue?

And many miles; the princess bids you tell,

How many inches do fill up one mile.

Biron. Tell her, we measure them by weary steps.
Boyet. She hears herself.

Ros. How many weary steps,

Of many weary miles you have o'ergone,

Are number'd in the travel of one mile?

Biron. We number nothing that we spend for you;
Our duty is so rich, so infinite,

That we may do it still without accompt.

Long. I know the reason, lady, why you ask.
Kath. O, for your reason! quickly, sir; Ilong.
Long. You have a double tongue within your mask,
And would afford my speechless visor half.
Kath. Veal, quoth the Dutchman; is not veal

a calf?

Long. A calf, fair lady?
Kath. No, a fair lord calf.

Long. Let's part the word.

Kath. No, I'll not be your half :

Take all, and wean it; it may prove an ox.
Boyet. Gone to her tent. Please it your majesty,
Long. Look, how you butt yourself in these sharp Command me any service to her thither?


Will you give horns, chaste lady? do not so.

Kath. Then die a calf, before your horns do grow.
Long. One word in private with you, ere I die.
Kath. Bleat softly then, the butcher hears you cry.
[They converse apart.
Boyet. The tongues of mocking wenches are as keen
As is the razor's edge invisible,
Cutting a smaller hair than may be seen;

Above the sense of sense: so sensible
Seemeth their conference; their conceits have wings,
Fleeter than arrows, bullets, wind, thought, swifter

Ros.Not one word more,my maids; break off,break off!
Biron. By heaven, all dry-beaten with pure scoff!
King. Farewell, mad wenches! you have simple wits.
[Exeunt King, Lords, Moth, Music, and Attendants.
Prin. Twenty adieus, my frozen Muscovites !-
Are these the breed of wits so wonder'd at?
Boyet. Tapers they are, with your sweet breaths
puff'd out.


King. That she vouchsafe me audience for one word.
Boyet. I will; and so will she, I know, my lord.
Biron. This fellow pecks up wit, as pigeons peas;
And utters it again, when God doth please:
He is wit's pedlar; and retails his wares
At wakes, and wassels, meetings, markets, fairs;
And we that sell by gross, the Lord doth know,
Have not the grace to grace it with such show.
This gallant pins the wenches on his sleeve;
Had he been Adam, he had tempted Eve:
He can carve too, and lisp: Why, this is he
That kiss'd away his hand in courtesy;
This is the ape of form, monsieur the nice,
That, when he plays at tables, chides the dice
In honourable terms; nay, he can sing
A mean most meanly; and, in ushering,
Mend him who can: the ladies call him, sweet;
The stairs, as he treads on them, kiss his feet:
This is the flower that smiles on every one,
To show his teeth as white as whale's bone:
And consciences, that will not die in debt,
Pay him the due of honey-tongued Boyet.
King. A blister on his sweet tongue, with my heart,
That put Armado's page out of his part!

Ros. Well-liking wits they have; gross,gross; fat,fat.
Prin. O poverty in wit, kingly-poor flout!
Will they not, think you, hang themselves to-night?
Or ever, but in visors, show their faces?
This pert Birón was out of countenance quite.
Ros. O! they were all in lamentable cases!
The king was weeping-ripe for a good word.
Prin. Birón did swear himself out of all suit.
Mar. Dumain was at my service, and his sword:
No point, quoth I; my servant straight was mute.
Kath. Lord Longaville said, I came o'er his heart;
And trow you what he call'd me?
Prin. Qualm, perhaps.

Kath. Yes, in good faith.
Prin. Go, sickness as thou art!

Ros. Well, better wits have worn plain statute-caps. But will you hear? the king is my love sworn.

Prin. And quick Birón hath plighted faith to me.
Kath. And Longaville was for my service born.
Mar. Dumain is mine, as sure as bark on tree.
Boyet. Madam, and pretty mistresses, give ear:
Immediately they will again be here

In their own shapes; for it can never be,
They will digest this harsh indignity.
Prin Will they return?

Boyet. They will, they will, God knows;
And leap for joy, though they are lame with blows;
Therefore, change favours; and, when they repair,
Blow like sweet roses in this summer air.

Prin. How blow? how blow? speak to be understood. Boyet. Fair ladies, mask'd, are roses in their bud: Dismask'd, their damask sweet commixture shown, Are angels vailing clouds, or roses blown.

Prin. Avaunt, perplexity! What shall we do, If they return in their own shapes to woo?

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Enter the Princess, usher'd by BOYET; ROSALINE, MA-
RIA, KATHARINE, and Attendants.


Biron. See where it comes!— Behaviour, what wert thou,


Till this man show'd thee? and what art thou now?
King. All hail, sweet madam, and fair time of day!
Prin. Fair, in all hail, is foul, as I conceive.
King. Construe my speeches better, if you may.
Prin. Then wish me better, I will give you leave.
King. We came to visit you; and purpose now
To lead you to our court: vouchsafe it then.
Prin. This field shall hold me; and so hold your

Ros. Good madam, if by me you'll be advis'd,
'Let's mock them still, as well known, as disguis'd:
Let us complain to them what fools were here,
Disguis'd like Muscovites, in shapeless gear:
And wonder, what they were; and to what end
Their shallow shows, and prologue vilely penn'd,
And their rough carriage so ridiculous,
Should be presented at our tent to us.
Boyet. Ladies, withdraw; the gallants are at hand.
Prin. Whip to our tents, as roes run over land!
[Exeunt Princess, Ros. Kath. and Maria.
Enter the King, BIRON, LONGAVILLE, and DUMAIN, in

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King. Fair sir, God save you! Where is the prin



Nor God, nor I, delight in perjur'd men.
King. Rebuke me not for that which you provoke:
The virtue of your eye must break my oath.
Prin. You nick-name virtue: vice you should
have spoke;

For virtue's office never breaks men's troth.
Now, by my maiden honour, yet as pure
As the unsullied lily, I protest,

A world of torments though I should endure,
I would not yield to be your house's guest:
So much I hate a breaking cause to be
Of heavenly oaths, vow'd with integrity.
King. O, you have liv'd in desolation here,
Unseen, unvisited, much to our shame.
Prin. Not so, my lord; it is not so, I swear;
We have had pastimes here, and pleasant game;
A mess of Russians left us but of late.
King. How, madam? Russians?
Prin. Ay, in truth, my lord;
Trim gallants, full of courtship and of state.
Ros. Madam, speak true! It is not so, my lord;
My lady, (to the manner of the days,)
In courtesy, gives undeserving praise.
We four, indeed, confronted here with four
In Russian habit: here they stay'd an hour,
And talk'd apace; and in that hour, my lord,
They did not bless us with one happy word.
I dare not call them fools; but this I think,
When they are thirsty, fools would fain have drink.
Biron. This jest is dry to me. - Fair, gentle sweet,
Your wit makes wise things foolish; when we greet
With eyes
best seeing heaven's fiery eye,




By light we lose light: your capacity
Is of that nature, that to your huge store
Wise things seem foolish, and rich things but poor.
Ros. This proves you wise and rich; for in my eye
Biron. Iam a fool, and full of poverty.
Ros. But that you take what doth to you belong,
It were a fault to snatch words from my tongue.
Biron. O, I am yours, and all that I possess.
Ros. All the fool mine?

Biron. I cannot give you less.

Ros. Which of the visors was is that you wore? Biron. Where? when? what visor? why demand you this?

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Prin. When she shall challenge this, you will re-
ject her.

King. Upon mine honour, no!
Prin. Peace, peace, forbear!

Your oath once broke, you force not to forswear.
King. Despise me, when I break this oath of mine.
Prin. I will; and therefore keep it. Rosaline,
What did the Russian whisper in your ear?

Ros. Madam, he swore, that he did hold me dear
As precious eye-sight; and did value me
Above this world: adding thereto, moreover,
That he would wed me, or else die my lover.
Prin. God give thee joy of him! the noble lord

Ros. There, then, that visor; that superfluous case,
That hid the worse, and show'd the better face.
King. We are descried: they'll mock us now down-Most honourably doth uphold his word.

Dum. Let us confess, and turn it to a jest.

Prin. Amaz'd, my lord? Why looks your highness sad?

Rus. Help, hold his brows! he'll swoon! Why look you pale?

Sea-sick, I think, coming from Muscovy.


King. What mean you, madam? by my life, my troth,
never swore this lady such an oath!

Ros. By heaven, you did! and to confirm it plain,
You gave me this: but take it, sir, again.
King. My faith, and this, the princess I did give;
I knew her by this jewel on her sleeve.
Prin. Pardon me, sir, this jewel did she wear;

Biron. Thus pour the stars down plagues for per- And lord Birón, I thank him, is my dear:-

Can any face of brass hold longer out?-
Here stand I, lady dart thy skill at me;

Bruise me with scorn, confound me with a flout;
Thrust thy sharp wit quite through my ignorance;
Cut me to pieces with thy keen conceit;
And I will wish thee never more to dance,
Nor never more in Russian habit wait.
O! never will I trust to speeches penn'd,
Nor to the motion of a school-boy's tongue;
Nor never come in visor to my friend;

Nor woo in rhyme, like a blind harper's song:
Taffata phrases, silken terms precise,

Three-pil'd hyperboles, spruce affectation, Figures pedantical: these summer-flies

Have blown me fall of maggot ostentation:

I do forswear them; and I here protest,
By this white glove, (how white the hand,

Henceforth my wooing mind shall be express'd
In russet yeas and honest kersey noes:
And, to begin, wench,-so God help me, la !-
My love to thee is sound, sans crack or flaw.
Ros. Sans SANS, I pray you.

Biron. Yet I have a trick


Of the old rage:- bear with me, I am sick;
I'll leave it by degrees. Soft, let us see; —
Write, Lord have mercy on us, on those three;
They are infected, in their hearts it lies;
They have the plague, and caught it of your eyes:
These lords are visited; you are not free,
For the Lord's tokens on you do I see.

Prin. No, they are free, that gave these tokens to us.
Biron. Our states are forfeit, seek not to undo us.
Ros. It is not so; for how can this be true,
That you stand forfeit, being those that sue?
Biron. Peace! for I will not have to do with you.
Ros. Nor shall not, if I do as I intend.

Biron. Speak for yourselves, my wit is at an end.
King. Teach us, sweet madam, for our rude trans-

Some fair excuse.

Prin. The fairest is confession.

Were you not here, but even now, disguis'd?

King. Madam, I was.

Prin. And were you well advis'd?

King. I was, fair madam.

Prin. When you then were here,

What did you whisper in your lady's ear?

What? will you have me, or your pearl again?
Biron. Neither of either; I remit both twain. —
I see the trick on't!-Here was a consent
(Knowing aforehand of our merriment,)
To dash it like a Christmas comedy:
Some carry-tale, some please-man, some slight zany,
Some mumble-news, some trencher-knight, some

That smiles his check in years; and knows the trick
To make my lady laugh, when she's dispos'd,-
Told our intents before: which once disclos'd,
The ladies did change favours; and then we;
Following the signs, woo'd but the sign of she.
Now, to our perjury to add more terror,
We are again forsworn; in will, and error.
Much upon this it is:-And might not you [To Boyet.
Forestal our sport, to make us thus untrue?
Do not you know my lady's foot by the squire,
And laugh upon the apple of her eye?

And stand between her back, sir, and the fire,
Holding a trencher, jesting merrily?

You put our page out: Go, you are allow'd;
Die when you will, a smock shall be your shrow'd.
You leer upon me, do you? there's an eye,
Wounds like a leaden sword.

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Biron. How much is it?

Cost. O Lord, sir, the parties themselves, the actors, sir, will show whereuntil it doth amount: for my own part, lam, as they say, but to parfect one man,e'en one poor man; Pompion the great, sir. Biron. Art thou one of the worthies?

Cost. It pleased them to think me worthy of Pompion the great for mine own part, I know not the degree of the worthy; but I am to stand for him. Biron. Go, bid them prepare.


Cost. We will turn it finely off, sir; we will take some [Exit Costard. King. Birón, they will shame us, let them not approach.

Biron. We are shame-proof, my lord: and 'tis some policy

To have one show worse than the king's and his company.

King. I say, they shall not come.

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Prin. Nay, my good lord, let me o'er-rule you now;
That sport best pleases, that doth least know how:
Where zeal strives to content, and the contents
Die in the zeal of them which it presents,
Their form confounded makes most form in mirth,
When great things labouring perish in their birth.
Biron. A right description of our sport, my lord.

Enter NATHANIEL arm'd, for Alexander.
Nath. When in the world Iliv'd, Iwas the world's

By east, west, north, and south, I spread my conque-
ring might;

Arm. Anointed, I implore so much expence of thy
royal sweet breath, as will utter a brace of words.
[Armado converses with the King, and delivers him
a paper.]

Prin. Doth this man serve God?
Biron. Why ask you?


I wish


My 'scutcheon plain declares, that I am Alisander.
Boyet. Your nose says, no, you are not; for it stands
too right.


Prin. He speaks not like a man of God's making.
Arm. That's all one, my fair, sweet, honey monarch:
for, I protest, the schoolmaster is exceeding fantasti-
cal; too, too vain; too, too vain: but we will put it,
as they say, to fortuna della
peace of mind, most royal couplement! [Exit Armado.
King. Here is like to be a good presence of worthies:
He presents Hector of Troy: the swain, Pompey the
great; the parish curate, Alexander; Armado's page,
Hercules; the pedant, Judas Machabacus.

Biron. Your nose smells, no, in this most tender-
smelling knight.

Prin. The conqueror is dismay'd. Proceed, good


Nath. When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's
commander ;-

Boyet. Most true, 'tis right; you were so, Alisander.
Biron. Pompey the great,-

Cost. Your servant, and Costárd.
Biron.Take away the conqueror,take away Alisander.
Cost. O sir, [To Nathaniel.] you have overthrown
Alisander the conqueror! You will be scraped out of
the painted cloth for this: your lion, that holds his
poll-ax sitting on a close-stool, will be given to Ajax:
he will be the ninth worthy. A conqueror, and afeard
to speak! run away for shame, Alisander. [Nath. re-
tires.] There, an't shall please you, a foolish mild
man; an honest man, look you, and soon dash'd! He
is a marvellous good neighbour, in sooth; and a very
good bowler: but, for Alisander, alas, you see, how
'tis;-a little o'erparted. But there are worthies a-
coming will speak their mind in some other sort.
Prin. Stand aside, good Pompey.
Enter HOLOFERNES arm'd, for Judas, and MoтH
arm'd, for Hercules.

And if these four worthies in their first show thrive,
These four will change habits, and present the other

Biron, There is five in the first show.
King. You are deceiv'd, 'tis not so.

Biron. The pedant, the braggart, the hedge-priest, the fool, and the boy:

Abate a throw at novum; and the whole world again,
Cannot prick out five such, take each one in his vein.
King. The ship is under sail, and here she comes
amain. [Seats brought for the King, Princess, etc.
Pageant of the Nine Iorthies.
EnterCOSTARD arm'd, for Pompey.

Cost. I Pompey am,~~~~
Boyet. Youlie, you are not he.

Cost. I Pompey am,——

Boyet. With libbard's head on knee.

Biron.Well said, old mocker; I must needs be friends with thee.

Cost. I Pompey am, Pompey surnam'd the big,―
Dum. The great.

Hol. Great Hercules is presented by this imp,
Whose club kill'd Cerberus, that three-headed


And, when he was a babe, a child, a shrimp,

Thus did he strangle serpents in his manus:
Quoniam, he seemeth in minority;
Ergo, I come with this apology.-
Keep some state in thy exit, and vanish. [Exit Moth.
Hol. Judas I am,-

Cost. It is great, sir:-Pompey surnam'd the great;
That oft in field, with targe and shield, did make my
foe to sweat:

And travelling along this coast, I here am come by


Dum. A Judas!

Hol. Not Iscariot, sir.

Judas I am, ycleped Machabaeus.

And lay my arms before the legs of this sweet lass of


If your ladyship would say, Thanks, Pompey, I had

Dum. Judas Machabaeus clept, is plain Judas.
Biron. A kissing traitor!-How art thou prov'd Judas?
Hol. Judas I am,-

Dum. The more shame for you, Judas.
Hol. What mean you, sir?

Boyet. To make Judas hang himself.

Hol. Begin, sir,; you are my elder.

Biron. Well follow'd: Judas was hanged on an elder.
Hol. I will not be put out of countenance.
Biron. Because thou hast no face.

Hol. What is this?

Boyet. A cittern head.

Dum. The head of a bodkin.
Biron. A death's face in a ring.
Long. The face of an old Roman coin, scarce seen.
Boyet. The pummel of Caesar's faulchion.
Dum. The carv'd-bone face on a flask.
Biron. St George's half-cheek in a brooch.
Dum. Ay, and in a brooch of lead.
Biron. Ay, and worn in the cap of a tooth-drawer:
And now, forward! for we have put thee in counte-


Hol. You have put me out of countenance.

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Biron. False; we have given thee faces.
Hol. But you have outfac'd them all.

Biron. An thou wert a lion, we would do so.
Boyet. Therefore, as he is, an ass, let him go.

And so adieu, sweet Jude! nay, why dost thou stay?
Dum. For the latter end of his name.

Biron. For the ass to the Jude; give it him :-Jud-as,

Hol. This is not generous, not gentle, not humble.

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Boyet. A light for monsieur Judas: it grows dark, he|_Moth. Master, let me take you a button-hole lower. may stumble.

Prin. Alas, poor Machabaeus, how hath he been

Enter ARMADO arm'd, for Hector.
Biron. Hide thy head, Achilles; here comes Hector

in arms.

Dum. Though my mocks come home by me, I will now be merry.

King. Hector was but a Trojan in respect of this.
Boyet. But is this Hector?

Dum. Ithink, Hector was not so clean timber'd.
Long. His leg is too big for Hector.

Dum. More calf, certain.

Boyet. No; he is best endued in the small.

Biron. This cannot be Hector.

Dum. He's a god or a painter; for he makes faces.

Arm. The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty,
Gave Hector a gift,-

Dum. A gilt nutmeg.
Biron. A lemon.

Long. Stuck with cloves.

Dum. No, cloven.

Arm. Peace!

The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty,

Gave Hector a gift, the heir of Ilion;

Do you not see, Pompey is uncasing for the combat?
What mean you? you will lose your reputation.
Arm. Gentlemen, and soldiers, pardon me, I will not
combat in my shirt.

Dum. You may not deny it; Pompey hath made the challenge.

Arm. Sweet bloods, I both may and will.
Biron. What reason have you for't?

Arm. The naked truth of it is, I have no shirt; I go woolward for penance.

Boyet. True, and it was enjoin'd him in Rome for want of linen; since when, I'll be sworn, he wore none, but a dish-clout of Jaquenetta's; and that 'a wears next his heart, for a favour.


Mer. God save you, madam!
Piin. Welcome, Mercade;

But that thou interrupt'st our merriment.

Mer. I am sorry, madam; for the news I bring, Is heavy in my tongue. The king your father

y life.

Prin. Dead, for myl

Mer. Even so; my tale is told.

Biron. Worthies, away! the scene begins to cloud. Arm. For mine own part, I breathe free breath: I have seen the day of wrong through the little hole of

A man so breath'd, that certain he would fight, yea discretion, and I will right myself like a soldier.

From morn till night, out of his pavilion.

I am that flower, —

Dum. That mint.

Long. That columbine.

Arm. Sweet lord Longaville, rein thy tongue! Long. I must rather give it the rein; for it runs against Hector.

Dum. Ay, and Hector's a greyhound.

Arm. The sweet war-man is dead and rotten; sweet chucks, beat not the bones of the buried: when he breath'd, he was a man-But I will forward with my device: Sweet royalty, [To the Princess.] bestow on me the sense of hearing. [Biron whispers Costard. Prin. Speak, brave Hector; we are much delighted. Arm. I do adore thy sweet grace's slipper. Boyet. Loves her by the foot.

Dum. He may not by the yard.

Arm. This Hector far surmounted Hannibal,Cost. The party is gone, fellow Hector, she is gone; she is two months on her way.

Arm. What meanest thou?

Cost. Faith, unless you play the honest Trojan, the poor wench is cast away: she's quick; the child brags in her belly already; 'tis yours.

Arm. Dost thou infamonize me among potentates? thou shalt die.

Cost. Then shall Hector be whipp'd for Jaquenetta that is quick by him; and hang'd, for Pompey that is dead by him.

Dum. Most rare Pompey!

Boyet. Renowned Pompey!

[Exeunt Worthies.

King. How fares your majesty?
Prin. Boyet, prepare; I will away to-night.
King. Madam, not so; I do beseech you, stay.
Prin. Prepare, I say.—I thank you, gracious lords,
For all your fair endeavours; and entreat,
Out of a new-sad soul, that you vouchsafe
In your rich wisdom, to excuse, or hide,
The liberal opposition of our spirits:
If over-boldly we have borne ourselves
In the converse of breath, your gentleness
Was guilty of it.-Farewell, worthy lord!
A heavy heart bears not an humble tongue :
Excuse me so, coming so short of thanks
For my great suit so easily obtain'd.

King. The extreme parts of time extremely form
All causes to the purpose of his speed;
And often, at his very loose, decides
That, which long process could not arbitrate:
And though the mourning brow of progeny
Forbid the smiling courtesy of love,
The holy suit, which fain it would convince;
Yet, since love's argument was first on foot,
Let not the cloud of sorrow justle it
From what it purpos'd; since, to wail friends lost,
Is not by much so wholesome, profitable,
As to rejoice at friends but newly found.

Prin. I understand you not; my griefs are double. Biron. Honest plain words best pierce the ear of grief;

And by these badges understand the king.

Biron. Greater than great, great, great, great Pom- For your fair sakes have we neglected time,

pey! Pompey the huge!

Dum. Hector trembles.

Biron. Pompey is mov'd.

Play'd foul play with our oaths; your beauty, ladies,
Had much deformed us, fashioning our humours

More Ates, more Ates; Even to the opposed end of our intents:

stir them on! stir them on! Dum. Hector will challenge him.

And what in us hath seem'd ridiculous,
As love is full of unbefitting strains ;

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